Sylar's Camp for Gifted Children
by paintedkisses64
Summary: Sylar is mistaken for a camp counselor while tracking down a member of the list. Well, of course he plays along. But in the end he might just find the top of his own skull removed... who gave the kids sharp objects?
1. Prologue

Author's Note: This is a based on a crazy dream I had. It's awesome. Except that in the dream, Sylar was in a wheelchair, a giant three headed sandworm attacked one of the cabins, and I had a cameo in the store room, trying to climb the shelves to reach some dog food for the little kid that could turn into the shaggy dog. Needless to say, Sylar won't be in a wheelchair (I'm not clever enough to figure out how to fit that one in), but the sandworm might show up. I don't know. I'll have to think about it.

* * *

Sylar's Camp for Gifted Children

Prologue: "Insatiable His Appetite"

It was far too easy to slip through their fingers, to overpower them, and to be denied death.

And it was far too easy to drift into Mohinder Suresh's apartment like a shadow and breach the firewalls on the geneticists laptop. He thought he wouldn't need Mohinder's list after all, when he consumed the power to paint the future. But many of his paintings were too obscure to take anything from; the faces were vague and the scenery unfamiliar. Maybe the clarity would unfold in time, but he could not choose what future he saw, and he grew hungry and restless.

So he did what he had always done when lost or confused: he made a little social call of sorts to an old friend. Of course, his last visit ended a little... violently, but he tried not to dwell on the consequences of his ruined reconciliation with his mother. It seemed that everywhere he went death followed, but it was done. He would not be tied down with regret; he would become so powerful that nothing would be able to tie him down.

An hourglass icon with a percentage sign drifting beside it appeared as Mohinder's list downloaded. The professor's laptop was nice, but a little old– downright ancient in electronic time. After all, it's not like it was an ilaptop. What else could he do? The serial killer waited patiently with his fingers clasped in his lap as the hourglass flipped idly.

A few minutes later, there was a 'plink' sound, and Sylar felt the sting of disappointment as three profiles shifted onto the screen. Mohinder had clearly been distracted by Primatech Paper and Molly Walker to not have gotten farther in his efforts to rebuild the list. Still, Sylar was practically salivating as he scanned the names and addresses. Paul Ruben, 45, California; Maye Roe, 16, Louisiana; Alexis Garrett, 21, Connecticut. Sylar smiled with morbid satisfaction. He had not been to Connecticut... yet. A familiar voice closed in on the apartment, moving away from the elevator in the hallway, and Sylar quickly snapped the laptop closed. It beeped irritably at him as it automatically logged off, its light blinking twice. Sylar could hear Mohinder argue with someone on his cellphone about who was in charge of what and smiled. Mohinder had always thought he was in control of the situation, but could never see anyone else's intentions until he had already been used. Sylar willed the window open and levitated down to the balcony below, pulling the window closed behind him with his mind. The apartment in front of him was bare of furniture and occupants; apparently it had not yet been leased. Fortune was a strange thing. The doors opened and closed behind him with the smallest amount of effort as he strode through the empty rooms and into the apartment complex hallway. Five minutes later he exited the building like nothing out of the ordinary had taken place.

* * *

So, a short little prologue to whet the appetite. I hope. Anyways, reviews a adored, and will overwhelmingly speed the process. Unfortunately, however, they are not required. 


	2. House of Wolves

Sylar's Camp for Gifted Children

Chapter One: House of Wolves

The small third floor apartment that belonged to Alexis Garrett was as dark and quiet as a crypt. The air conditioner seemed to be off as well, for a sweltering humidity hung thick as a miasma in the air. The only sound that Sylar could hear was the perpetual ticking of a large, ornate, oval clock on the wall next to a black futon. The clock seemed a little more than the owner of an apartment that could not be more than 400 square feet would be able to afford. The golden carousel at the bottom started twirling just then, and multi-colored lights began blinking as it notified the hour. At one a.m. the clock face separated into thirds and twisted outward like a blossoming flower and the melody "Killing Me Softly" began to chime. Sylar smiled, appreciating both the irony in the choice of music and the mechanics of the clock. He could see his reflection on the glass case that was surrounded by a cherry wood frame; he looked like a wolf that had just cornered his prey.

He turned and walked into the bedroom. The bed was empty, and the corners of the burgundy velvet and black lace comforter had been tucked in with a rushed hand. Sylar reached down and meticulously smoothed down the corners with a hand. As he turned to walk out of the room, his eyes fell on a calendar that hung above a bedside table where a digital dome shaped alarm clock sat under an adjustable lamp. The date of that day had been circled with a red permanent marker and the words "Counselor's Orientation" had been scribbled in blue ink. He lifted the pages so that September showed, and then slowly let each page fall back into place. He stopped on July, his hand hovering above his head as he read the note left on July 29th. "Camp ends/ register for classes". For two months she would not return. He dropped the pages and looked around the room, searching for a hint that would lead him to his prey. He moved back into the living room, his eyes scanning a desk that also served as a television stand. There was a pile of mail stacked next to a laptop, the edges of each serrated where they had been ripped open. He shuffled through them and was able to find a letter with a camp logo stamped on the top. He returned the rest of the mail back to the pile they had originally been in, and unfolded the letter. He found exactly what he needed there– the time, date, and place. A scent to follow.

* * *

Sylar found the location of the camp easily enough, tucked away for the most part from the nearest city. Too far away to hear any screams– what were the architects thinking? There was a toll booth on the outskirts, and a ten foot fence stretched outwards from each side, to protect the children from whatever threat might linger outside, he assumed. It would not protect them from him. He floated up and over the top of the fence, landing softly on the other side. Ridiculously easy, just like stealing her power would be. There was a gravel road that wound through the trees, and he could already hear what he could only assume were the voices of the counselors preparing for the arrival of the campers. They were laughing, oblivious and unaware of the things that go bump in the night. There were several cabins on either side of the road, and in a clearing that seemed to be the center of the camp signs marked paths that stretched outwards like a web. He listened for the origin of the voices. They seemed to be emanating from a trail marked "Campfire". His footsteps crunched down on the gravel and left little grooves as he made his way closer to them. He could see the little spot of a fire flickering between the trees, and as he got closer he realized it wasn't really little at all, but rather was a good sized bonfire. It lit up the faces of eleven people who seemed to range in age from nineteen to thirty five, though most were in their early twenties. They were nearly evenly split in gender, though; six were female and five were male. He hovered like a shadow just out of their reach. He was nearly drooling. He did not even notice when he stepped forward, and his foot came down hard on a thin, fallen branch. The crunch resounded loudly and Sylar closed his eyes in irritation. For him, for more reasons than one, the sound was deafening. He bit his tongue to keep from cursing and forced a smile as every single counselor turned to look at him. Son of a bitch. His thoughts raced, trying to come up with a good excuse that would not make him look like a stalker, psychopath, or killer. It really wasn't all that easy when one was a little bit of all of the above. Okay... maybe a more than just a little...

Before he was silent long enough for there to be an awkward silence, however, a tall, stringy woman with tawny hair stood up. He could tell her hair had been dyed by the roots that hid black under her ponytail like a shadow under the surface of water. "Hi... Michael Roberts?"

"Yes." Sylar agreed automatically. Whoever they thought he was, he could use that persona to avoid suspicion; at least for tonight. After that it did not even matter. He would slip away as silently and as untraceable as he had come, sans the unorthodox scuffle with the tree branch. Hunger pains, he thought as he tried to justify his carelessness.

As he strode forward to accept the hand that she held out in greeting, he had another realization. Why not play this new role for a while, just as he had as Zane Taylor? Who knew how many people attending this camp would be gifted? There was real potential here, he considered as his tongue ran along his bottom lip and his eyes drifted over the faces of the counselors. With so many fish in the barrel, it was certain that he would be having a good meal every night.

"My name is Tess Garrett; I'm the Camp Leader." The woman spoke up, and Sylar's attention snapped back to her. "Glad you could finally make it."

He grinned sheepishly. "Sorry. I had an emergency that I had to attend to. I should have called." His eyes flicked down for half of a second to the younger woman crouched at Tess' feet on the log. Her eyes were blue to Tess' hazel, and she had a different build, but they were clearly related.

"That's all right." she stated a little patronizingly. "We're just glad you could make it in time to help settle in the campers." Below her Alexis rolled her eyes bitterly, and two of the other female counselors, an athletic brunette with a good tan and a petite teenager with dark skin and long black hair cascading down her back, exchanged glances. The others stared at him, some with a 'haven't I seen you before?' look in their eyes, others with curiosity. He saw all of this without looking away from Tess.

"Well, I'm sure everyone knows who you are now, so let's introduce you to everyone else." Tess continued, turning back to the others. "This is Alexis. We're sisters, but she got all the good genes."

"Ha." Alexis quipped, before giving Sylar a smile. It was polite, but nothing more. There was no trace of warmth to be had in it for strangers. Tess went down the line from there, but the names did not stick to his finely honed memory. They were unnecessary, and unimportant. When he decided that they mattered, he would remember what he needed to know.

"Would you like to tell us something about yourself?" Tess asked.

_Don't be ridiculous. Of course I don't._ Though Tess had posed it as a question, Sylar knew it was not to be answered as one. Not wanting to look like a punk ass to the people he was trying to gain the trust of, he thought of something to say. "Um..." he began. He should not relate himself in any way that might have been information that the real Michael Garrett gave in a resume. If there were resumes involved for being a camp counselor. Sylar assumed there were; there were resumes involved in _everything_. "I'm... a little tired." he admitted. There. A little humor never hurt anyone.

"Hear! Hear!" A young girl that could not have been over nineteen shouted enthusiastically. Her pixie styled blonde hair had been streaked with pink highlights, and she was grinning from ear to ear. Sylar smirked. How cute.

Tess glanced down at her watch. "Yeah," she agreed, "it's getting late. I need everyone up at seven o' clock tomorrow morning. The campers arrive at ten, so that should be plenty of time to set everything up." She turned back to Sylar with a smile. "So, Michael, excited about being the crafts counselor?"

Sylar smiled slowly. "Oh, I just can't wait to see all the kids and find out how talented they are."


	3. Lesson One: How to Build Character

Disclaimer: Even though I forgot to put this at the beginning of the story, I still don't own Sylar, Gabrielle Grey, Zane Taylor, or Mohinder Suresh. Or Claire Bennet. Or anyone else from Heroes that might be mentioned heretoforthish in this story.

Author's Note: I couldn't fit it in, but drama is also going to be part of the genre. I don't generally consider myself a comedian (even though I try), so let's see if I can pull the combination of drama and humor off properly.

* * *

**Sylar's Camp for Gifted Children**

**Chapter Two: Lesson One: How to Build Character**

Sylar had been led to the cabin that the male counselors would share, and was given six different camp uniforms, all with logos on the left breast and across the back. It was a rising sun with two hands that looked as if they were holding it up. He felt like there ought to have been a script along the bottom that read "_Together, we can make a difference, or build dreams, or save the world, or some stupid shit like that_." He could see Peter Petrelli wearing one of these. Maybe he would bring one back as a souvenir, perhaps with a little bit of brain matter splattered on the front of it. _Take that, bitch._ He'd love it.

He had then slipped away to "get his suitcase out of his car." The next morning one of the local clothing stores would experience a mysterious disappearance of several men's outfits, not that he would have to worry about it. He almost could not hide the excitement that he felt about the next two months. So much potential. He hoped he would be able to control himself.

* * *

"Ungh!" Alexis flopped backwards onto her small, simple cot with her thumbs hooked into her denim shorts as she attempted to squeeze into an outfit that she had not worn for about a year. 

"Are you okay in there?" Tess asked around a mouthful of her toothbrush as she looked at Alexis' reflection from the tiny bathroom in the female counselors cabin. The campers had a separate building for toilets and shower cubicles; still, it was only a small perk, being just a single bathroom and five roommates. Sometimes they made bets on who could hold it the longest. It passed the time, but it kind of sucked for the one who could not hold it in the longest, and also couldn't make it to the bathroom in time.

"Yeah," Alexis groaned in reply. "It's just the binge eating after hours of classes and labs that's caught up to me."

"That's why binge eating is bad." Tess replied like she was talking to a two year old.

"No shit, Sherlock." Alexis muttered. It didn't quite have the affect it should have had, because she was wiggling her buttocks all the while she said it. "Thank God I have you here to repeat every doctor and talk show host that ever wasted a breath or scrap of paper wearing out that subject for deaf ears."

"That's a really ignorant and cruel response. You have no idea that their lectures didn't help someone." Tess reprimanded testily.

"There's an easy solution for that: don't share my opinion."

Tess laughed, and spit out the rest of her toothpaste, scooping up water from the faucet and rinsing out her mouth. She knew when Alexis wasn't serious about a subject, because she would defend her opinions to the ground if she were, but it made it hard for anyone else to figure out when she was joking and when she was not.

"Can you do me a favor, Lexus?" She asked as she wiped the excess water from her mouth. Alexis rolled her eyes at the "pet" name that Tess used on her whenever she wanted something. She did not know why. Alexis hated the nickname, and had told Tess over and over again that she would be far more willing to do something for her if she were less annoying. It was a car, for Christ's sake. Maybe Tess thought she was joking. Maybe Tess was an idiot.

"That depends on if I can get my big J-Lo ass into these shorts." Alexis grunted as she tried the button again, arching her back a little in the process. Tess leaned on the doorframe and watched her younger sister huff and puff her way into her favorite pair of faded shorts that she had given to Alexis six years ago when she had gained her own freshman fifteen and could no longer wear them. She had since lost that weight, but could never bring herself to asking for them back, since Alexis had also seemed to have grown attached to the scrap of fabric as well. Maybe now, though...

"Ah!" Alexis sighed, sagging down to the mattress. "Finally, I got it."

"Yeah, but can you stand up?" Alexis gave her a dirty look just as Macy burst through the door, her pink streaked blonde hair fluttering.

"Hey," she grinned as she saw Alexis on her back and her knees bent and spread apart. "Having fun?" she winked and bit into the banana she had brought back from the mess hall.

"_Thank_ you, Macy." Alexis smiled as she rolled sideways off the bed and onto her feet.

"So about that favor," Tess continued, "I need you to show Michael around the camp property so he knows where everything is."

Alexis made a painful face. "Aw, man. No. You know I wanted to go run a few laps this morning around the lake before the campers arrive!"

"Come on, Lexus." Alexis huffed and rolled her eyes again at the name. "I have a million other obligations to attend to, and you'll have plenty of time to run later in the week."

"I'll do it!" Macy chimed in. She would love to get a few minutes alone with that dark eyed hunk and get to know him better.

"There you go." Alexis said as she motioned to Macy. "A volunteer."

"I need you to do this."

"No you don't." Alexis argued.

"I need you to become more confident as a leader." Tess flicked off the light in the bathroom and closed the door as she came out.

"You _do_ know that this is going to be my last summer here, right?"

"You don't know that." Tess shot back, and Macy quietly slipped back out of the cabin.

"Yes. I do. As soon as I graduate I'm getting a job. A _different_ job." Alexis added the last sentence when she saw Tess open her mouth. "I haven't taken business or kinesiology major courses, and you _know_ why." She stormed out the door, and Tess dashed after her, stopping on the stoop.

"Alexis, come back here!" Tess demanded.

"Don't worry, I'll show him around the campsite for you." She shot back snidely with a flip of her finger, and then was gone, storming off in the direction of the mess hall, her hair flaring up around her head with each step like a storm.

* * *

Later that morning the counselors met at the bonfire again, which was now no more than a pile of black ash and singed logs. Sylar wore the blue camp shirt over borrowed khaki canvas shorts, his hair un-gelled and falling across his forehead softly. He had decided that Michael Roberts was a laid back guy, kind, and easy to talk to; to trust. The kids would look up to him like a big brother. He stood among the other guys as if he had just clicked right into place, a mask stolen from the costume closet and slipped over a stranger's face. 

Tess stood out from the groggy counselors, wide awake and as enthusiastic as she had been the night before. Her sister, on the other hand had her arms crossed and a look in her eyes that suggested she had not had time to get a cup of coffee.

"Okay! The campers are all going to arrive at ten, so we have two hours to set up our activities and schedules according to the syllabus you guys received when you first got here." She turned and addressed Sylar. "Michael, I realize you didn't get one last night, so I brought down a copy." She held out a thin packet of red papers that had been stapled together, which Michael accepted with a warm thank you. "Don't be intimidated. It's going to be super-easy." Sylar arched an eyebrow at her as she looked out over the other counselors and continued talking, wondering what he had done to give the impression that he had been intimidated by anything. He shrugged it off as the counselors dispersed, Tess leading the way. Before he could follow them, however, Alexis walked up to him, smiling.

"Come on. I'll give you the grand tour." She led him in a different direction than the one that the rest of the counselors were taking, and a shadow of a hungry smiled hovered over Sylar's lips. What a perfect opportunity to see how the young woman ticked.

* * *

Alexis wasn't as fond of words as her sister was, or, if she was, she kept them in her head. She told him where everything was and the general schedule– curfew, lights out, breakfast, lunch, and dinner, etc.– but on the paths in between the crafts hut and the physical activities area she fell silent. So he filled it in. 

"So, how many years have you worked here as a counselor?" he asked.

"Three." she replied. "Corporate takes care of tuition if I help out as a counselor during the summers." She smiled wryly. "And of course it help that my father is one of those business managers."

"So that explains your sister, too. Taking on the family business." he stated, remembering his own remorse and resentment about following in his father's footsteps. That was how he used to feel, anyway. Lately he had not been so sure. He knew he was destined to be powerful; to be great. But pieces of him felt hollow and nostalgic. He had once sought guidance of a different type after he had been told so many times to expect to be so much more; after he had grown up believing it. But would doing something that, deep inside, he really enjoyed and appreciated for the rest of his life be so bad? He had wondered what was more important– being powerful, or doing something that did not jeopardize the lives of others. In the end, his conscience was a weakness that had killed someone who meant more to him than anything in the world. After that, he had quelled whatever insecurities he had about his actions, and buried the guilt. It was only a liability, and after he had come so far, no prayer could save him now.

"That's not true." She said. He looked at her, afraid for a moment that she could hear his thoughts, but was proven wrong. "If I were to really take on the family business, I would be a business major instead of a Philosophy major."

Sylar watched her with dark eyes as she continued looking straight ahead. "Do you ever feel like... you were meant for something more? Destined, perhaps?" He asked as if he were testing the waters with a dip of his foot.

"What do you mean? You think you were destined to save lives, or something?"

Sylar paused on their way to the physical activities center and chuckled. Alexis stopped too, looking back at him in confusion. "No, not me. I don't think I'd be very good at that."

She looked at him like she thought he was a little odd. "We're almost there." She replied as she turned and began walking again. "Anyways, I don't care if what I do saves lives or not. That may sound selfish, but people need more than doctors or nurses to make the world go 'round. I just want to be happy. I think that, in the end, that's what really matters." She walked a little further before adding, "And world peace."

"Really." Sylar blinked nonchalantly.

Alexis snickered. "Sure. _If_ I were running for Miss Connecticut. Hey," she grinned at him "Maybe that's what I was destined to do."

Sylar laughed. "I guess everyone has their calling."

She joked, "Well, we ought to have more pageant winners and cheerleaders saving the world. It's just too bad that most of them end up in AA." Vaguely Sylar thought about Claire. Would she ever be able to get drunk, or would her rapid regeneration eliminate the alcohol poisoning? What _would _the world be like if they had drunk regenerating cheerleaders running around all over the place? Does that mean that she would be a virgin forever too?

Sylar shook the thoughts out of his head, his mind wandering to another topic. They walked the rest of the way in silence, and under all of that guilt that Sylar thought he had buried, he wondered at her first statement, and whether or not he could say that he was happy.

* * *

Back at the center of the campsite, sedans, trucks, and minivans moved in a slow loop as kids and preteens spilled out, and in some cases just kind of tumbled out, and parents helped them unload their trunks and suitcases from the automobiles. 

Three counselors, including the ever active Tess, were yelling into megaphones, all competing with themselves to be heard over the campers. Sylar could feel the beginning of a migraine pulse steadily in his forehead as the noise got louder and the campers scurried past him.

Alexis sighed. "I'm never going to get used to this." she muttered, a low grumble to herself, but Sylar was able to pick it up loud and clear. He looked over at her. No one would ever be able to detect her true feelings with that smile plastered on.

"Third year campers! Come with me!" Tess bellowed over the heads of jittery kids, waving a clipboard like she meant to fan herself. She saw her sister and called to her, pulling the megaphone away from her mouth. "Alex! Here, go ahead and use this one." She handed the megaphone to Alexis, who grabbed it with a cheerless but squeaky "Wheee."

Alexis checked her watch; it was barely nine. "Boy, they just come earlier and earlier every year." She raised her voice over the din around them. "Can't wait to get rid of their kids, I guess." She then raised the megaphone to her lips, and Sylar mentally cringed, readying himself for another blast of noise. Megaphones, screaming kids, screaming counselors, screaming kids... Perhaps while he was here he should make a habit of carrying around a very large bottle of aspirin and some ear plugs.

"First years! Over here, please!" Kids giggled and flocked around her legs, joking and pushing amongst themselves.

"I feel like Harry Potter!"

"Alohamora!"

"Hey!" Alexis yelled at a little boy who had stuck a twig up a small girls nose. "You think it's a punishment to be sent here, then you _really_ don't want me to take disciplinary actions."

"Alexis Rose!"

Alexis lowered the megaphone and looked at her sister. "What?" she asked semi-innocently. It was hard to be intimidated by the use of a middle name when said middle name was a flower. She was answered by a menacing glare and a meaningful side glance towards the parents, which she replied with a roll of her eyes.

Sylar simply glanced back and forth between them, his ears ringing and his head throbbing, but thoroughly enjoying the excitement.

* * *

Okay, that's enough of that. I really can't remember my camp days very well, but I'll do my best. Off to work on the next chapter-- **Lesson two: How to Build a Birdhouse**. 


	4. Lesson Two: How to Build a Birdhouse

Author's Note: I don't know if there's a lake in Connecticut. My research consisted of a very brief, sloppy determining of the existence of camps and weather.

And the M rating is for later chapters (just in case things get a little naughty), and use of the word fuck. If it slips out, it slips out. I try to outline my stories as vaguely as possible. I know how it starts, where it's going, and how it ends. What happens along the way is the passionate journey that unfolds itself. And it's also the reason why all my English teachers hate me. So, I guess what I'm rambling on about is that I'd rather be safe than sorry.

Well, let's not take up an entire chapter with author's notes, shall we?

Am I still allowed to put lyrics in the beginning of the chapter? I guess I'll find out.

* * *

**Sylar's Camp for Gifted Children**

**Chapter Three: How to Build a Birdhouse**

_Every whisper_

_Of every waking hour_

_I'm choosing my confessions_

_Trying to keep an eye on you _

_Like a hurt, lost, and blinded fool._

_Oh no, I've said too much;_

_I set it up._

_-- _lyrics copyright R.E.M. **  
**

"Stop touching me!"

"I'm not touching you."

"You're in my bubble!"

"You don't have a bubble."

"_I have a BUBBLE_!" With a sudden spark of fierceness, a small seven year old girl wearing pink overalls swung her arm back and planted her tiny fist square into her adversary's nose. The eight year old boy in Batman swim trunks and blue tank top squealed as his head snapped back. No blood was drawn. He growled like a baby panther and grabbed the one of the girl's black braided pigtails, yanking hard.

Sylar jumped up and pried the children apart, their arms outstretched even as they grew apart in an effort to rip out each other's throat. He didn't know how to handle situation's like this. Michael Roberts might, but his facade could not teach him anything. His best effort consisted of holding one child in each hand by the scruff of their necks and looking at them awkwardly. They returned his stare.

Finally he set them back down, and surprisingly they did not attack each other, but instead looked at him expectantly.

"That's enough." He said lamely. He paused, and then added, in a stroke of brilliance, while he leaned in toward the young boy, "Keep at it and I'll tell her what a big crush you have on her."

The boy paled before regaining his composure and turning a sneer to Sylar. "Do not!"

Sylar straightened his posture and ruffled the boy's hair. "Good. Then I'm sure you won't bother her."

The lover's quarrel calmed, Sylar stepped back over to the head of the middle of three picnic tables that sat under the shade of the crafts cabin patio. There was a large cardboard box at the end of the middle table, filled with bags of popsicle sticks, several types of glue, small containers of acrylic paint, a packet of cheap nylon brushes, and a rainbow of Crayola crayons. He grabbed as many bags of popsicle sticks as he could manage to fit into each hand and began handing them out one by one to the excited, jittery kids. He was glad that they were only popsicle sticks; he did not know what might happen if they got any more excited. They might... piddle on themselves, or something.

"Okay, today we are going to make birdhouses." Michael announced to the kids, giving them the impression that he shared their excitement. After all the kids had plenty of the wooden tongue pressers, Sylar returned to the box for the glue. There was plenty of Elmer's white traditional glue, the blue waterproof glue, a few bottles of rubber glue, and a couple of glue sticks. He left the glue sticks lying in the bottom of the box and handed out the rest of the glue.

"A few of you will have to share the glue." He finished handing the bottles out and stared at the kids, who were looking at the popsicle sticks like they ought to be dancing like the popcorn buckets and candy bars that always want to go to the lobby during movies, but instead were lying limp and tired in front of them. "And uh..." he scratched his nose thoughtfully. "Be creative." he concluded.

A second or two passed by slowly, and one kid tentatively reached out and picked up a stick. Like it was a signal that it was okay, the rest of the children grabbed the wooden sticks ravenously, and there was a sudden uproar of giddy conversation. A weight seemed to lift off of Sylar's shoulders, and he picked up a few crayons from the box, settling down on the railing that ran around the patio where he had set a sketchbook that he had come across in the crafts closet.

The children were noisy and volatile. The girls were bossy and prissy and the boys were quick to solve their problems physically, shoving and slapping each other for a mere scrap of wood. Sylar turned his attention away from them, and let his subconscious take over, succumbing to the white haze that led him through misty secrets like a will-o'-the-wisp. Curiously, even as he walked through the future, his arm reaching out and tracing the outlines of his disembodied surroundings, he could never seem to really remember the vision until he saw it painted out before him. It was if his eyes were two bottomless cups, never meant to hold the ambrosia of life, but to simply act as a funnel and guide it along to let it splash on a more stable surface; much like the synapses in a body's central nervous system.

His eyes fluttered, blinking away the remnants of the milky dream-like state so that he could see the colorful sketch more clearly. His eyebrows furrowed as he tried to make sense of the picture that had materialized. It was a small boy, awfully familiar, too, and he seemed to have a popsicle stick wedged up his nose...

Alarmed, Sylar looked up just in time to witness the act in person. The kid laughed tauntingly, pleased with himself almost, but it was short-lived. His eyes bulged almost as much as his right nostril; he had just realized that glue really burned when stuck up a fleshy crevice. His lips trembled as a look of horror and pain glistened in his eyes.

Sylar leapt off the banister and ran over to the kid. What was going through these hellions brains? They had apparently outgrown the stage where everything they laid their hands on goes into the mouth; now everything they laid their hands on went up the nose.

His hands, rough with haste, pulled the boy's head back so he could see the intrusion without having to crane his neck. He began to pull the stick out but the boy screamed in terror and pain, which was nothing Sylar was not used to. He nevertheless relinquished his grip on the popsicle stick, but not on the boy's head., who stared up at him with a glassy, fearful anticipation.

_'Why the hell do you do shit like this you little fucker?_' He glared the thought down at the boy, not daring to let it pass from his lips. He was furious, worried that he might be expelled from the camp for negligence before he had discovered any more powers.

As the boy stared up at him, trying to breath through his nose despite the self afflicted blockade, a large glue bubble peeked gingerly from around the nostril. The boy inhaled, and the bubble concaved, flipping inward and disappearing back into the nose. The kid then began choking on it as the bubble grew and tried to go up further into his brain. Rolling his eyes, Sylar grabbed the popsicle stick again, this time ignoring the boy's painful yelp as he yanked it mercilessly out of his nose.

Sylar rose, the popsicle stick dangling from his fingers, and stared down at the boy.

"What's your name?" Sylar asked, his voice holding no love for the child.

"James." the boy sniffed, his right nostril twitching involuntarily.

Sylar handed the popsicle stick to the boy, his eyes cold and emotionless. The boy did not want the stick, but was fearful of what might happen if he denied it. He gingerly plucked the glue and nose hair covered stick from his counselor's grasp. Their eyes never left each other.

"Do you know where the infirmary is?"

The boy nodded in affirmation, but it was a lie. It was his first year at the camp, and he did not know where anything was. Still, he would much rather wander around with glue in his brain than make the man looming above him walk alone with him to show him where it was. He slipped off the bench silently and walked out of the hut, feeling the heat of the other kids' stares heavy on his back. He was never going to put anything in his nose again. Not even sausages.

* * *

Sylar lost his control over Michael Roberts. The mask had slipped– that was apparent. The impression would have to be remedied; it was not his intention to instill fear that he could not use at this moment in time. 

He turned back to the kids, pulling the facade over himself and bolted it into place like he was sewing a shadow back to his foot.

That was Peter Pan.

But he found no order when he turned back to the kids. He took a sharp consumption of breath when he saw another kid abusing the use of glue, this time placing it in his mouth as if it were a delicacy, using the popsicle stick as a spoon.

"Hey!" Michael cried out as he rushed to the boy's side, pulling the stick out of his mouth. A long, wet string of glue and saliva stretched from the stick to the boy's lips like a sticky bridge. There was a unified "EeeW!" from the rest of the children as they watched with glee.

"Okay, let's get something straight." Michael addressed to all of the kids. "Glue belongs on the popsicle sticks." He waved the stick in his hand for visual emphasis. "That's it. I don't want to catch it anywhere else again." _You're not supposed to experiment with this kind of stuff until you get into college anyways_, he added silently.

He finished his spiel and looked down at another little boy that sat across from and to the side of the first glue eater. He held a popsicle stick covered with a gob of glue wavering on the end, and it hovered on the edge of his lips teasingly; daring Michael to do something about it.

"You really think I'm joking, huh?" What was the camp's policy on beating the children?

The boy's tongue darted out to test the consistency of the glue, and Sylar's hand shot out just as quickly to knock it out of his hand. It bounced down the length of the table and clattered to a stop at the edge. One girl reached out and discreetly flicked it off the table as her counselor and the boy glared daggers at each other.

"All right, you two." Michael hauled each of the boys up by their elbows and guided them to the door, nudging them outside. "Find you way back to your cabins or the infirmary, I don't care. You obviously don't need to be here."

The two boys looked at each other like they were not expecting that to happen before turning and slinking off, mumbling between each other.

Once more he turned back to his class, but the children's attention spans had already run short, and they were immersed in their birdhouse carpentry like nothing else had taken place. Letting out a sigh, Sylar walked over to the place on the banister where he had set down the sketchbook, prying it off the railing along with the crayons and leaning back where they had been waiting. After casting his eyes suspiciously over the heads of the kids, Slyar began sketching again.

* * *

He found her by the lake, just as the picture foretold. He situated himself in the exact tree, and in the exact position, because that was what was supposed to happen. But he should have known better. Not all of Isaac's paintings came true literally. The cheerleader did not die; New York did not explode. But he was also not Isaac, and Peter Petrelli, who had a special gift for fucking up destiny, was not here. 

And just as in the drawing the woman below him ran on, ignorant to his presence. The white wire of her pink iPod mini's earpieces dangled down her back, swishing against her sweat slicked skin as she ran. Her face was red, struck by the hot sun and exertion, and she was wearing only a black and white sports bra and a pair of loose black cotton shorts.

_What kind of tricks are you hiding?_ He mused as his eyes followed her ever moving form like a hungry vulture. Her jogged slowed to a fast paced walk, and Alexis braced her hands on her hips as she sucked in air. _You're all alone out here,_ he thought, modifying it with a belated, _Almost._ He shifted his back uncomfortably against the rough bark. _Stretch out your powers. Let me see what I'm taking._

Her course was bringing her closer to the tree he occupied, and he stiffened. Was this what the sketch led to? Was she going to see him and know? She seemed not to notice, her eyes cast downward as she watched her footing. He could hear music trickling up from her iPod mini. It was an old R.E.M. song.

_Consider this– the hint of the century;_

_Consider this– the slip _

_That brought me to my knees..._

Alexis began to jog again, but had only gone a few steps before stopping, wavering dizzily. Her hand flew to her forehead as she tried to maintain control over her neurological sensory, but her knees buckled and she collapsed on the ground, the hand that had been cradling her head falling limply to the grass beside her face.

Sylar paused for a moment before allowing himself to glide down from the tree. She must have suffered from sun stroke, or dehydration. He jogged over and knelt down beside her, leaning over her and casting his shadow over her figure. A nose ring that he hadn't noticed before winked at him when he shifted and it caught the glare of the sun in its gem.

"Alexis?" He called her name, tapped her cheek, and shook her shoulders. Nothing. He knew she wasn't dead– he could hear her heartbeat lividly inside her chest. He looked at her eyelids and could see her eyes rolling about inside them. Well, speaking of R.E.M., it looked as if she were dreaming.

Sylar squinted at her and shook her again. He really did not want to have to carry her to the infirmary. It was a long hike.

* * *

_There was ticking, incessant, surrounding her, and closing in on her. It was driving her mad. Alexis opened her eyes and saw the clocks, so many different types and sizes, on the floor, covering the walls... why was she dreaming about clocks? This was the exact reason why she was avoiding her therapist. _

_Alexis looked down at her hands. She felt so corporeal and stable; it was an odd sensation to have in a dream. She could feel the texture of her skin when she rubbed her fingers together, and she could still feel the dull ache in her side from jogging, which was the last thing she remembered. So which was the dream? _

_She heard someone cough in another room to her left, deeper into the clock shop, for that was where she was. The cash register was on top of a desk in front of the wall in front of her, and there was a small door with a bell hanging above the frame to welcome a customer (if there ever were any) behind her. Alexis followed the sound of the cough_, _and her sneakers squeaked along the floorboards. Suddenly with a shiver she remembered that she was wearing only a sports bra and shorts and paused, feeling drastically underdressed. _

Whatever, my swimsuit covers less._ She considered, strengthening her resolve and walking further into the room. _At least I'm wearing shoes. I just hope I don't smell like shit._ She paused again and did a quick sniff test. Yeah, she kind of ranked. _

_She looked up and jumped slightly when she saw a young man sitting at a table in front of her. A lamp that craned over the desk obscured his form, and he did not seem to take notice of her. _

_Alexis circled the table so that she stood in front of it, looking down at a dark head that was studiously examining a small watch, nudging it's insides with what looked like a pair of tweezers. _

_"Hey... whatcha doing?" Alexis greeted. The man ignored her. "Excuse me," she stated with a slight indignance. He continued to ignore her. "Uh." she scoffed quietly, crossing her arms. "Forget this dream." she muttered after a moment, stomping to the door. She reached out to grab the doorknob, but her fingers slipped and brushed past it. She tried it again to the same effect. She stood rigid, staring down at the doorknob in disbelief._

_"What...?" She attempted the handle again, concentrating on her depth perception. This time she was sure of it. Her hand was not slipping by the doorknob– it was passing right _through_ it. _

_"_What...?"

_And then the door opened, and there was a sudden chill like a thousand freezing pricks of pain through her entire body as the door opened and passed through her like a possessive demon. The breath rattled out of her lungs and she stumbled backwards, falling over herself until she landed hard on her ass. She grunted in pain and looked up at the man who walked through the door, the bell above him chiming brightly at him. She knew him. About a year or so ago she had read a book he had written for research in an exam she had to write. She could not remember his name; she could not even remember the class that she had written that stupid exam for. She passed, anyway. _

_The older man walked into the other room, where the prick that had been blowing her off sat, eyes glued to his obsession. Alexis followed closely behind, more intrigued than ever, and more sure than anything that she had just died and gone to hell. _

_"Gabriel Grey?" The older man addressed the younger, and he finally looked up, taking off strange eye pieces that seemed to have several small lenses attached at different angles. Alexis had to do a double take when she saw them, and then another one when she saw who was behind them. All in all, the effect was enough to make her look like she was having a seizure. _

_"_Michael?"_ Alexis asked, more to herself because she knew that was the only one who could hear her at this point. "Gabriel?" _

_"My name is Dr. Suresh." The older man continued, not giving Alexis time to catch up. _

_"Oh yeah, that _is _your name..." _

_"Your watch is broken." 'Gabriel' stated, motioning to Dr. Suresh's wristwatch. _

Oh, he tooold you, bitch,_ Alexis thought to herself. What? This dream was really boring, and she had to do something to entertain herself._

_"No it's not..." The doctor argued, looking down at it defensively._

_"It's two seconds behind. Let me fix it for you." Dr. Suresh surrendered his watch to 'Gabriel', watching him with eager curiosity. Gabriel held it to his ear for a moment, and then pulled out the crown, adjusting the time ever so slightly and then pausing until the time was accurate. _

_Alexis sat on the edge of the desk, not so much listening as trying to figure out why she was there. The doctor held the book she had read so long before in his hand, and was talking to Gabriel about evolution, and how he may be a part of it. Like it had clicked into place in her mind, Alexis remembered the blood samples that Dr. Suresh had been taking from volunteers. He had been paying ten dollars for a prick on the finger, so, being the college student, Alexis had beared the pain for the cash, not caring where her blood went or what happened with it. Now it seemed like it had happened for a reason, the unseen path had been laid before her and guided her, unwavering, just as it had probably guided the doctor to write his book and search for this evolution. _What would he say about these dreams that I've been having?_ Alexis pondered. _Because I'm not so certain that this is a dream anymore._ It was far too real. So what conclusion did that leave? And if she this was in fact something that had already happened, or was about to happen, she needed to find out why this particular moment was important. Automatically she looked at Gabriel accusingly. _

Gabriel Grey. That's who you are. I just know it. You don't look like a Michael anyways.

_Vaguely, Alexis heard her name being called, like a whisper on a breeze. It gradually became louder, and as she concentrated on the voice her surrounding began to melt away into darkness._

* * *

Alexis mentally pulled herself to the voice with all of her might, and finally found herself staring into the white light of the afternoon sun and the pale blue cloudless sky. She squinted, groaning, shading her eyes as she hauled herself up into a sitting position. Michael crouched beside her, his hand on her shoulder. 

"Oh..." she managed as she stared at him uncertainly, remembering, though not quite believing, the events that had just taken place. '_Gabriel Grey...'_ She bit the inside of her lip as she recalled.

"Are you all right? It looked like you had a sun stroke." He asked her, looking concerned.

Alexis' eyes roamed from side to side as she rationalized what just happened. _Okay. I'm not crazy; just dehydrated. I can work with that._ "Yeah." She said out loud, pushing herself to her feet.

"Whoah," Sylar stood with her, his hands outstretched as if he meant to steady her, but she stood without falter. "Maybe we should get you to the infirmary."

Alexis looked ahead, a little perplexed at herself. "I feel fine, actually." she responded. "I've got a water bottle over by the end of the trail. I guess I'll go sit down over there in the shade for a little while..." She began to walk and felt her ear pieces bounce off of her calves. She leaned over and picked them up; they must have fallen out after she passed out. Oh God. She passed out. What a bad ass.

Sylar followed her back to the trees overhanging the trail where she had spread out a towel and her camp shirt, which she quickly pulled over her head. She then plopped down on her beach towel (it literally had a beach printed on it) and took a long dose of water from the blue sports bottle, which also had the camp logo on it. Sylar sat down beside her, crossing his legs underneath him. When Alexis finished gulping down the water, there was less than half of it left in the plastic container.

"I'm glad you were out here," Alexis mentioned, placing the water bottle back on the ground. "But what were you doing?"

Sylar had anticipated that question soon after he came down to make sure she was all right, so had already prepared an answer.

"I had already forgotten where everything was," he admitted with a small shrug. "So I decided to look around again on my own."

Alexis nodded, seeming to believe him, and laid back on the towel, her hands locked behind her head.

"You looked like you were dreaming out there for a second." Michael spoke conversationally, while Sylar tried to see through the inner workings.

Alexis chuckled. "I kind of was. Clocks." Her eyes darted over to him as her eyebrow arched skeptically with a smile. "Weird, huh?"

"You must be running out of time." Sylar joked darkly. He tone dropped when he thought about the clocks, the icon of insignificance, and it was the first time he noticed it happening.

Alexis rolled her eyes. "Aw, and summer just started, too." She pulled her iPod mini out of her belt loop, shuffling through the songs with one hand as she put an earpiece in with the other. She then offered the second earpiece to Sylar silently. Sylar shook his head, half expecting her to shove into his ear anyways.

"Fine then." She said with a shrug. "My taste in music isn't _that_ bad..." The mutter was cut off by Gerard Way's crooning as he thanked his sister for the venom.

_Preach all you want, but who's gonna save me?_

_I keep a gun on the book you gave me,_

_Hallelujah, lock and load._

_Black is the kiss, the touch of the serpent's son,_

_It ain't the mark or the scar that makes you one._

They sat and listened to the music for awhile, the sun bearing down and melting the rest of the world away, while a serene breeze gave breaths of comfort to them.

_You're running after something that you'll never kill_

_If this is what you want, then fire at will. _

The smell of grass was all around them, and Sylar could smell Alexis underneath it all, the musk oil scent of sweat covering a delicate jasmine fragrance, lingering in a far away background like the dying plant poking out from the rails of the balcony above Gabriel's mother's apartment. It was a sweeter association of his childhood, one that hung dimly in the shadow of his father's pride and his mother's manic depressive insatiability, and one that he feared he might come to terms with if he stayed too long.

_Could you lay down your hair for a little while?_

_Just a little while,_

_To see if you're human after all._

_Well honesty's a hard attribute to find_

_And we all wanna seem like we got it all figured out_

_But let me be– _

Sylar stood abruptly and walked off in the direction of the camp. Alexis sat up, bracing her weight on her elbows, watching him as she cocked her head to the side in wonderment. Before there was a yard between them Alexis jumped up as well, scooping up her belongings and jogging after him.

"Hey..." She caught up with him and stoped in her tracks. He did the same. There was a moderate smell of smoke on the wind, but the campfire was too small and too far away to be able to smell it from the lake. They never used it during the day, anyways.

"What's burning?"

* * *

Author's Note (Yes, AGAIN): I'll be coming up with quite a few of 'special powers' in this "story"... um, maybe I should say that I'm _borrowing_ them from the X-Men and then modifying them slightly (oh, like Heroes can say they didn't.), but I wanted to use for Alexis a power that we've all seen Peter use. So basically this is how I theorize how he got that power, because I honestly don't think it was originally his. And you'll just have to sit tight and tune in like you did waiting anxiously in front of the tv every Monday (and in my case again on Sunday) to find out how he was able to come in contact with the power, because I would be remiss to leave that out. 

First song was "Losing My Religion" by R.E.M. I don't own it. Second song was "Thank You for the Venom" by My Chemical Romance. Don't own that one either. Third was "Trying" by Lifehouse. Still don't own it. And I probably spelled Gerard Way's name wrong because I'm lame like that . Sorry.

And if anyone might know how the Suresh/Grey scene goes, and could write me a brief script of that scene, I would be forever grateful. I really want to write it right (why not, right?), but my stupid dial up computer doesn't download videos, so I can't watch online reruns. I had to do my best from a two second memory span.


	5. Lesson Three: How to Build a Fire

Author's Note: This chapter only took so long to finish because the last few months have been HELL. I'll never sin again, just to avoid going through that again, because I know when I die, it will be just like that. In hell. :). And then of course there was a twelve page book report that I had to write, and the new Harry Potter book that I procrastinated writing the report with.

So... sorry if it sucks.

* * *

Sylar's Camp For Gifted Children

Chapter Four: How to Build A Fire

"What's burning?" Michael asked, inhaling deeply through his nostrils.

Alexis threw her hands up, covering her mouth like an actress in a black and white horror film. "The girls cabins! The place is going to explode like the bomb over Kirby Plaza!"

Michael gave her a dismayed and perturbed look.

"What? Too soon?"

"Don't you think you might be overreacting?"

"No," she replied over her shoulder as she began jogging towards the campsite, "we've got so much hairspray in our cabin we could hold up a bank!"

Sylar found himself chuckling at what he hoped was a lame joke as he ran after her, his longer legs catching up quickly. For all of her pensiveness, the girl was ever the off-hand comedian. Maybe she was simply thinking of the perfect punch line. He gave her a B for effort.

Soon they could see the dark gray smoke trickling upwards through the limbs of the trees, and could hear the shrieks and screams of frightened and surprised campers.

At the sight of the flames that licked the insides of the once white bricked infirmary, Sylar came to a stop, his black Sketchers skidding slightly on the gravel path. His ears were tingling from each cackle of flame as it chewed on the wood of plenty and the confusion of the people around him, who raced around like they had mad cow disease. Well, may be not the disease; just mad cows.

Counselors were attacking th stretching expanse of fire with wimpy green gardening hoses, trying to keep the flames from reaching the trees or the other cabins. Three bold little boys dashed towards the burning infirmary, shouting their fairy tales at each other.

"We gotta water bend the fire nation into submission!"

"I'm gonna pummel 'em Aang-style!"

"Hey! Get the hell away from there!"

The last shout was from one of the male counselors. He grabbed at the collars of the kids, but they slipped through his fingers, giggling gleefully. Sylar focused a barrier around the flames, holding them in place with his telekinesis. He could only contain the fire, he couldn't put it out, but he supposed that even if he could he wouldn't be able to. As much as he did not want his little prodigies harmed, he also did not want to reveal his identity for their sakes. If he did he would have to kill everyone, and that would take all the fun out of their little play. He didn't know which brains would be the delicacies yet, anyways.

Unfortunately, while the fire could not get past his telekinetic barrier, neither could the water that was still shooting from the hoses. The three kids that were waving their arms about and stomping their feet in a silly, uncoordinated dance whooped in amazement as the water seemed to slam into thin air and hover above their heads.

"Yay! We're doing it!"

"I'm an Avatar!"

They hopped around and wriggled their butts in victory even as Sylar, disappointed, dropped the barrier to allow the water to continue combating the fire. His plan didn't work after all. He was going to have to take evil genius off of his resume.

Meanwhile the kids squealed in fright when their magic stopped working. They sounded like a trio of pot bellied pigs that had been caught in their mud pen rampage. Of course, Sylar had no idea how he knew what a pig sounded like when they were caught. Annoying. Close enough.

The male counselor was finally able to drag lock, shock and barrel away from the infirmary, his heels digging into the gravel as he hauled the squirming campers from harms way. The flames were beginning to die down as well, shrinking into docility under the persistent pelt of water. As the fire fell away and they could see the building more clearly, it became apparent that something was shuffling around inside. Sylar could hear a soft growling noise and something scraping along the floor. The door had been burnt off its hinges, the wood around the metal clasps having turned to ash, so it was easy to see a white figure low to the ground staggering through the door. What soon emerged was the rear end of a dog. He watched as Alexis saw this and dashed forward and approached the dog, despite the cries of her sister to stay back. Sylar could see why. The dog was struggling to pull the body of the white coat wearing nurse through the threshold, but the woman's girth was too much for the white shaggy haired dog. Alexis bent over and grabbed one fleshy arm, leaning backwards as she pulled. If she kept that up she was either going to throw out her back or break the woman's shoulder. Sylar ran up to join her, determined not to look completely useless throughout the entire fiasco, and grabbed the other arm. The silver haired woman, who had not been listed as a counselor so must have been a certified nurse, slid forward. Sylar helped the process by pulling her along with his mind as well, careful not to use too much of his powers so that their combined efforts would seem natural.

The older woman was pulled into the clean air and light, but remained unconscious, suffering from smoke inhalation and, from the look of the generous amount of flesh of her arms, quite a few third degree burns. Alexis looked at him hopefully from across the body, hands splayed on her knees.

"Do you know CPR?"

Sylar glanced at her with uncertainty, then back down at the woman's wrinkled and sooty lips. He actually did know CPR, but he reconsidered as the woman's lips parted with a juicy smack. "No," he eventually answered, shaking his head. Behind him, the counselor's with their limp hoses were dousing the battered remains of the fire.

"Shit," Alexis murmured, prodding the woman's lips with her index finger like one would poke a dead body with a stick. The nurse's lips made little sucking noises as they flapped together and apart. They both scrunched up their noses in disgust.

"Aren't counselors required to know CPR?" he asked, wondering how she could not have known and distracted by the ash covered woman still sprawled on the ground.

Alexis' head shot up as she gave him a meaningful glance. "You tell me."

Sylar's dark eyes darted up to meet her pale ones as she said this. Whoops. That had come out wrong. He gave her a bashful smile, the one that had worked so well on Mrs. Bennett when he claimed that Mr. Puddles had somehow gotten into the street. He still couldn't believe why Mrs. Bennett had believed such a far fetched tale. If that dog really had been anywhere outside, any driver in his or her right mind would go out of the way to mow the sucker down. It had taken all of Sylar's control to not drop kick the rodent across the room when it had started to chew on his laces.

"Right, well..." he forced a chuckle. "I guess it's not at all like riding a bike."

"Guess not..." she replied without a shimmer of humor in her eyes. She was beginning to get suspicious, or was it just his paranoia? Either way, he didn't like it. The ticking was beginning to sound in his head like his own little theme song. It was that static white noise that took over and clouded his mind when someone was about to die. It was what smothered his conscience and reason, drowning out his thoughts with every methodical tick. It was murder...

But not just yet.

"Actually, I have a confession to make..." Alexis muttered ominously, "I'm not really a camp counselor."

Sylar's eyes grew dark as her statement hit a little too close to home, but said nothing.

"Yes you are," came a reply from behind him. Tess came tromping up, her sandals making squelching sounds in the brand new mud. "You're just a goddamn lousy one. Of course you're one cell phone away from losing the title."

Alexis smiled at the fond memory. She had threatened a camper with her slim razor, and when the camper snootily asked her "What, are you going to throw it at me like you're America's next top model?" she had replied "No, I'm going to use it to call Naomi Campbell. She has a bigger phone."

"Alexis! You could have killed yourself by running into the fire like that!" she exclaimed when Alexis did not reply. "You're not indestructible!"

Alexis arched her eyebrow comically. "Or _am_ I?"

_Well, you're certainly no cheerleader_, Sylar thought.

Or was she...?

He was pulled out of his thoughts when the nurse suddenly began to cough and choke, her heaving shoulders sending ripples down her arms.

"Ugh," the woman groaned, reaching up blindly and grabbing a handful of Sylar's shirt and pulling him downwards as she attempted to pull herself up. Sylar dug his palms into the ground with desperation as the woman's lap loomed closer and closer to his nose.

"H... help..." he whispered frantically as the crease of her crotch came up to meet him. A hand fell on his shoulder in the nick of time and helped him level himself. He let his shoulder sag in relief, closing his eyes and exhaling. He was going to have to kill the nurse for that bit of excitement.

"Oh my Lord!" the woman exclaimed as she sat up, one hand fluttering to her bosom and the other squeezing Sylar's shoulder a little too familiarly. She looked around past the trio, her fingers digging into his flesh like she did not want to let go of something that she had claimed as her property. "Where is that little boy?"

"What little boy?" Tess asked. "The one that started the fire?"

"Oh, yes," Alexis piped in, "we'd _love_ to know which one that was."

The nurse nodded at Tess, ignoring Alexis, but then shook her head. "Yes, well no... I... he–," suddenly she pointed to something in front of her. "That's him!"

The two counselors (and the guy that would be counselor) turned to look at what she was pointing at. It was the canine that dragged her out of the burning infirmary.

"Ooh..." Alexis said, turning back to the woman. She patted the nurse on the shoulder. "No, sweetie. That's a dog. It's okay, though; you tried." The nurse looked at Alexis as though she had wronged her deeply.

"Hey," Tess interjected, "when _did_ we get that dog?"

Alexis looked at the mutt again, who simply stood and stared at them with a keen intelligence not possessed by a great deal of dogs. Or people, for that matter.

"Good question. I have a better one," she pursed her lips at her sister. "Why the _hell_ don't we have decent fire extinguishers? Doesn't that... violate a health code, or something?"

"Oh," Tess replied, looking surprised before her face began to redden with shame. "Wow. I completely forgot about those." She brightened quickly. "But now we'll have them for a real fire."

This made Alexis angry. "Are you _planning_ a real fire? What do you call what just happened here, a marshmallow roasting?"

"Don't turn around," Sylar advised. The three boys that had been playing 'Avatar' had returned, a wobbly, untwisted hanger with a marshmallow hanging off the end was in each of their hands, and they sat around a tiny flicker of a rebellious flame, taking turns to dip the marshmallow into the orange warmth.

The nurse struggled to get up, continuing to use Sylar's shoulder as leverage. He grimaced at her and at the throbbing pain in his shoulder, wondering how many tugs it would take her to pop the damn thing off.

"Oof!" she exclaimed. "I'm a little out of shape," she declared, and Sylar gave her an irritated and unamused frown. She ignored him, instead focusing at the dog, who loped over to her apologetically when it saw her sit up.

"Ms. Johnson," Tess asked, "is that your dog? You know we have a strict policy–."

"No, I told you," she interrupted as she brought her hand up and scratched the dog behind the ears, "it's a camper."

Tess blinked, frowning as she failed to understand the nurse. "Camper. Right. But... he _belongs_ to you, yeah?"

The nurse chuckled. "I don't think you understand me. This is a boy. I mean... a _real_ boy."

"Okay, Geppetto," sighed Alexis. She looked at her sister and mouthed "This is our _nurse_?"

Sylar was beginning to comprehend as he watched the scenario play out between the three women. As they continued to argue amongst themselves Sylar's eyes fixed on the canine. He could see a reflection of his calculating eyes as the dog stared back.

Then the dog's right nostril twitched, a mall tendril of smoke curling from the dark cavern's inside his nose. Sylar's brows furrowed.

"_James_?"

The dog barked at him in reply, as if congratulating him on solving a riddle.

"Oh God," this came from above him, and he looked up to see Alexis, who had stood and now had a mask of horror upon her face. "That really is a boy. Camper. Person."

"I _told_ you!" The nurse screeched. Alexis looked out into the trees, a confused and vacant haze filling her eyes. "Why do I feel like this is deja vu?"

Sylar looked back at the dog. "Can you change back?" he addressed it. James whimpered and laid down, tucking his head between his paws. Sylar guessed that was a 'no.'

"Wow, so that..." Alexis leaned toward the dog and scrunched her eyes at it, "thing-dog-person... boy-dog... dog-boy–," she stuttered through names, not seeming to find any that suited what James was. She gave up. "Did he start the fire?"

"I sent him to the infirmary after he stuck a gob of glue up his nose," Sylar answered her in explanation. Some explanation.

Alexis' eyebrows shot up in surprise. "And this is what happened? Shouldn't there be like a... surgeon-general warning on the label?" she fussed. "Do not use: side affects may include animagus transformation and spontaneous combustion of surrounding buildings. Seems like a large thing to simply... overlook."

Sylar shook his head, "I don't think the glue caused this."

"Then..." she cocked her head accusingly, "what are you teaching them in your classes?"

He laughed, the thought of him being able to teach these kids anything strangely amusing to him. "I'm saying he had this ability all along." Alexis scoffed, disbelieving, and crossed her arms. She looked away, and then seemed to reconsider.

"Well," she rationalized, "it does seem a bit unlikely that glue would have caused... _this._"

"A bit." Sylar agreed sarcastically, and she shrugged her shoulders.

* * *

Back in New York, Mohinder Suresh was diligently rebuilding his list for the genetically enhanced humans that had been destroyed a few months earlier when Sylar and Peter Petrelli had their second conflict in his apartment. He could hear the sounds of Spongebob wafting from the living room where Molly Walker stretched out belly down on the floor in front of the television. The adoption papers were piled somewhere with him in his room, no doubt half hidden underneath genetic files and molecular maps, and he reminded himself that the packet of papers was a heavy priority, yet he still couldn't pry his eyes away from his computer screen. 

It was telling him that he had last logged on nearly a week ago, at a time that he knew he was on the phone with a man named Charles McKale, who became the new president of the company after Thompson was murdered. Mohinder considered himself lucky; his prints were never found on the body, even though marks from his shoes were everywhere, it was not enough to pin him to the crime. Given the events that had taken place only hours afterwards, the death was filed under the infamous "Sylar Cases." His murders had become as important and mysterious as the X-files. _Mysterious._ Strange, that no body had been found that night; Mohinder was sure he had seen Hiro Nakamura thoroughly shish kebab him right before vanishing once more. He had seen Sylar fall, had seen the blood pool around his body. But he had turned his back too readily when he should have known. Just like in Parasite. Just like in the episode after that. And the one several episodes before, when Noah Bennett had locked him up and tortured him. Sylar could not be killed.

Mohinder stared again at his supposed last log in time. He knew he hadn't been home then. He arrived at least five minutes after the time that was displayed. The clock on the computer was not wrong, neither was the one on his kitchen stove.

"Molly?" Mohinder called. He was answered by silence.

"_Molly_!"

"What!" her voice was tiny from the other room.

"Have you been messing with my computer?"

"Why would I want to do that?"

"You tell me."

There was a pause, and then Molly appeared in the doorway.

"I don't need your program. I can find people just by thinking about them, remember?"

Mohinder stared at the screen, his lips pursed as he thought of another explanation, but something was bugging him.

"How do you know what type of programs I have on my laptop?"

Molly rolled her eyes, "It's not hard. You're pretty obsessive about it."

Mohinder's eyebrows rose as he realized she was right. He was becoming just like his father.

Hopefully he wouldn't end up like him, too.

Molly turned to enter her state of television hypnosis again, but Mohinder stopped her.

"Molly..." he trailed off, afraid to ask the question that was haunting him. Afraid to know the answer, whatever it happened to be. He must be acting obsessively, if he could no longer leave 'good enough' alone. His breath shook as he looked at the ten year old standing in the doorway. Would his questions haunt her as well if he kept getting her involved and using her? Her childhood innocence had long since wilted away, the petals of purity saturated in blood and burned with jaded clarity. His eyes fell away. However far she had fallen, he could not bring himself to drag her to his depths.

Molly seemed to sense what was on his mind and stepped forward, reaching into her mind and soaring across the globe, searching for a face... "He's in Connecticut."

Mohinder's head snapped up, "What?"

"The boogey man," Molly looked troubled, and Mohinder, though grateful, soon felt guilty.

"Molly, I..."

"He's with someone special," Molly interrupted.

"You mean... special like you? Genetically enhanced?"

Molly nodded, "There's a lot of people there."

Mohinder's heart was racing. While he had suspected deep within his heart that Sylar had been alive all along, he could not believe it. Even as he leaned over and reached under his bed to pull out a large atlas he could not wrap his mind around the reality that was unfolding. He felt like he had stepped back in time and they were playing their games again, racing to the treasure at the end of the finish line.

"I need you to point on this map where he is," Mohinder told Molly as he flipped the pages over the plastic spiral binding. He laid the map out in front of her and handed her his pen. Molly took it, closing her eyes. Her hand shook slightly as it draped over a lake in Connecticut. Mohinder held his breath as the pen dangled from her fingertips before, with final assuredness, it thunked onto the smooth surface of the map. Molly's eyes fluttered open.

"Are we going to save someone?"

Mohinder looked up from where he was studying the map. "I am. You're staying here."

* * *

"What's the weirdest word you've ever heard?" Sylar looked up from the flames of the campfire Brian, another counselor, poked a stick thoughtfully into the fire. All of the counselors lounged on the logs in a circle, wasting away the precious moments of the evening that the campers were confined to their curfew. Empty marshmallow bags and chocolate wrappers littered the ground from the s'mores that they had engorged themselves on after the campers went to sleep. Sylar felt fat. 

"What?" A young, dark skinned girl looked at Brian like he had tourrets syndrome.

"Catawampus," Macy nodded her head, smiling slightly behind the folded arms that her chin rested on above her hunched position.

"You made that up," Another boy laughed, and Macy shook her head.

"No I didn't. It means, like, crooked, or something."

"She's right," Tess nodded.

"What about imbroglio?"

"What does that mean?" again from the skeptic.

"I don't know."

"Then how do you know it's a word?"

"Because I've heard it used."

"Just because you can use a word in a sentence doesn't mean it's an actual word."

"Huggermugger," Alexis said, breaking up the argument. "It means confusion, or, archaically, to keep secret."

"My father used to call me huggermugger all the time," the dark skinned girl said, but the word came out as 'hunger-muncher,' and several counselors burst out laughing, a few that sat right beside her teasing her.

"That's worse than when you had to read that article about heinous crimes out loud to the class in History," the girl that sat right next to her laughed.

"Will you shut up? I'm trying to get used to my tongue ring."

"What happened with the History class?" Brian asked.

"She couldn't pronounce the 'H' sound. Anus crimes."

The girl with the tongue ring buried her face in her hands, "Ooh, that was so embarrassing." She stood up. "I'm going to bed," she muttered, leaving the circle.

"Aaw," her friend called to her, "we were just having fun."

"I'm tired, too," Tess yawned. Pretty soon they were all muttering and rolling to their feet, shuffling off in different directions to their cabins. Sylar had remained silent for a good deal of the night, drifting in and out of the conversations. He knew he didn't belong. He knew he never would, but for some reason the fact was beginning to rub him the wrong way, like a puzzle piece that just doesn't quite fit, and gets stuck in the groove of another piece after being forced to join it. For the first time in his life he felt bad about not fitting in, but he was too proud to try. Special meant different. He had never fitted in while he was in highschool, but that had never bothered him. Why should it now?

He looked around at all the men and women laughing and talking with each other as he walked along within their midst. Maybe it was just the sugar talking, but he was beginning to wonder what he hungered for.

* * *

Author's Note: That's where I'm leaving off before I get swamped again. I'm leaving you all to wonder whether or not I'm going to make Sylar all good and fluffy by the end of this story. The only thing that I'm going to let out is that I probably will do something lame, but it's going to be because I thought it was funny, and it just didn't turn out like that. 

Like how I don't know how to spell turrets syndrome, or know the name of the character that Eric Roberts played. You can send me hate mail about that one.


End file.
